Themis
I stare across the Mount Olympus court, where not only do the gods govern the destinies of mortals, but I govern the consequences of the gods. It is a position that commands respect, but I know that I have exceeded the expectations of those around me and earned their love.
Well, in the majority of cases anyway. My steadfast and impartial standards have done little to sway my husband's closed off heart. For several decades I have given my loyalty to the mighty ruler of the gods. I have bent my knee and invested faith onto his very being in hopes that our divine partnership will grow to prosper not only our subjects, but ourselves. It feels that every effort I have made has been in vain.
A murmur echoes through the gold draped room, guiding my attention back to the plea in front of me. I pull the edges of my silk robe tighter, contemplating each resolution, looking for the one that holds divine justice.
I look to my husband, slouched in the throne next to my own, hoping that for once he will speak, that he will shoulder some of our people's burdens for me. Deep inside my mind I beg that this will be the time that he will act as any true husband would.
Yet, no matter how much I plead he doesn't turn to me. He sits, as he does every day, with a gaze that is far from here, as he absently rubs the place just over his heart. My gaze flickers to his guard, Athena, she smiles a gentle motion full of sympathy, before straightening stiffly back into the ever loyal daughter that she was prophesied to be.
I know that she loves me, and has since I stepped forward and embraced her when she entered this world, fully grown and ready for battle. Her sword is sharpened for all those that she feels in need of its protection. Yet, there is none on this plane that she devotes herself to more than her father. Not even her mother, who still rests trapped within his being.
In ways I am grateful for her steadfast connection to her father, she is not only the being in which he can unveil his deepest thoughts, but also a dedicated big sister. Though I know deep down that she acts on the yearning for the brother she was prophesied to have, I cannot fault her. It has never stopped her from pouring herself into each of my six daughters, helping me mold them into just and righteous goddesses. Though I am certain that their father loves them, I often feel as if Athena and I parented together.
While I will always be grateful for all that she has done, it is another small thing that makes my time here feel constricted. Just another subtle fracture beneath the surface of the facade that I must dawn.
There are days where I am content in my role, in my life, but those days become increasingly further between. As Prometheus had made the mortals, I have come to respect and dread their conflicts. They often pull at my heart, at the fabrics of my own marriage. They are never content to just be. No, they must strive for the most glory on the battlefield, the heaviest riches of the land, the deepest love in their relationships. It is as if their short little life spans require passion in every aspect.
When they kneel at my alter, begging for assistance, I have to hold the resentment I've started to build for them at bay. How dare they come to my own temple and beg for perfection because they refuse to settle for anything less than all consuming everything. Who has told them that they deserve such things? How do they not realize how rare that is?
I find myself often pulled in, entwined in their short little lives, mourning with them for each love that gets lost. In a way, it used to help me mourn for a love that I know I will never feel.
With each case, not only does my resentment for them, for everyone, grow, but so does the strain across the frayed threads of connections between me and my husband. What used to be endearing flaws have grown into massive annoyances. I can feel it growing in me even now, as I watch his dumb vacant gaze. This habit of his to be gone, even when he is near, has circled us through one hate filled argument after another. The divine bliss we once shared, slipping through our hands, leaving only respect for each other's role. He is my King. I am his judge. There is little more for us to forge forward with.
For years I have acted as if I do not notice the pitying looks that his brothers give me, and have ignored the rants of his sister, Hera, on my behalf. I have lost count of how many whispers that have stilted as I walk by, always with her name, Metis, hanging on their lips.
It is no secret that my husband still loves his first wife. I had entered our marriage with no love of my own, neither for him or anyone else. I had been glad that the expectation had not been there, but as the years had crawled by, I must admit that I wish that my marriage was my own. That I am the woman that my husband thinks of when we join, when he sinks into sleep at night, or even now, as he sits beside me on our thrones.
I call the court to a close, promising a decision on the morrow. I watch as Zeus startles from the noise of all departing.
"Productive day, wife?"
Another spike of annoyance travels through me. It takes a moment, a deep breath and a quick count to ten before I am able to reply rationally.
"I am not sure that can be said."
I can feel his eyes on me as I stand. He says nothing as I exit, making my way down a short hall and into our bedchamber. I hope that he does not follow, but it is not long before I hear the door open once again.
